


Lush

by Aariah



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU, F/F, literally just a cute drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:11:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8160112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aariah/pseuds/Aariah
Summary: She really didn't mean to fall in love with the innkeeper's dark eyed granddaughter.It sort of just. Happened.





	

_ I knew I would be running the rest of my life the day I picked up the staff against the men that had come for me. What could a measly staff do against pistols? A lot apparently, especially if you had a bit of knowing and the touch. Or if you just hit one of them hard enough they drop their gun. You can shoot the rest.  _

_  I had both, the touch and the knowing. As did my mother, she hung for them when I was a child. But they burned bright in my veins, and once you know if it you cannot not use it, even if it’s illegal. Even if you’ll hang.  _

_  I heard the whispers when I came riding through, to the sick I was led and the sick I without fail healed or eased their deaths. They called me Mercy. Or an angel. My mother had called me Angela. I think almost I prefer Mercy.  _

 

_ You do what you must to help others and to survive. If that involved becoming notorious and hunted wherever you stepped so be it. The world as it exists is so unfair, the only thing keeping it from being fair is cruel men on their thrones. If making it fair involved joining a rebellion, so be it. _

_  I never wanted to involve anyone else. Much less the innkeeper's granddaughter. I saw her first, skirts traded for breeches, sleeves rolled up as she chopped wood. Sweat and glistening brown skin, she captured the attention and held it.  _

_  “Who’s ever there might as well come out.” She had called out, still deep in her work.  _

_ And that is how it started. Meeting in that meadow every week, or when I was near enough to go. Fareeha. Fareeha was her name and she was beautiful.  _

 

Mercy started coming to the inn, hands shaking and face heavily hooded. It was risky, too many people and too high a bounty on her head. But she had told Fareeha she’d be coming, and Fareeha’s face had lit with such a light she stuffed the worry down far enough to actually step through the dark oak doors. 

 A woman slips next to her in her corner next to the fireplace. “I see you’ve an eye on my daughter.” She whispers, voice rough and slightly sharp.

 She knows that voice, the voice of the woman who had looked after her when she came through after her mother had choked and vomited her way to death. 

 The woman seemed to collect lost ones like beads, Mercy knew of at least a handful of others that had felt Ana’s soft touch. One of them was nearly a brother to her, though she hadn’t spoken to him in a good long while. 

 “So she’s yours then. She told me her mother was dead.” She replies softly.

“Oh yes, unfortunately its better this way.” Ana took a slow sip from a flask, Mercy knew from experience it was filled with a sweetened tea. 

“Your involvement in the rebellion you mean.” The words come out no louder than a sigh, and Ana nods. 

“You better not get her hurt because of you Angela. Or I will find you.” Ana whispers in Mercy’s ear before slipping away. 

 The rebellion. A cause Mercy had found herself pushed into. There wasn’t another good choice, so really it was the only choice. A pistol and a staff. These things had made her feared yet provided her allies with unmatched support.

It wasn’t time to fall in love with her commander’s dark eyed daughter. 

_ “You’re her aren’t you? The one who’s wanted for sorcery.” Fareeha whispers to her as they share her nearly too narrow bed.  _

_ “Yes Liebling. I am.” Naked skin against naked skin, the moon their only lighting. _

_ “So you’re with the rebellion then. I wanted to join, my mother wouldn’t let me.” Fareeha leans over for a kiss, which Mercy gladly gives. _

_ “It isn’t glamourous. You’re terrified, but you fight because you must. I’m so scared they’ll come for you Fareeha.”  _

_ “Don’t worry habiba, I can use a gun.”  _

 

It drew nearer and nearer to what Mercy hoped would be the end. “Liebling. I don’t know if i’ll return, but if I do it’ll be with the full moon.” 

Two weeks. Fareeha waited, she waited so patiently. Each day practicing just in case. When the king’s men came riding up the night Mercy was to return they tried to hold her down. She watched her grandmother cower, and her grandfather slid the pistol across the floor to her feet.

 She reacted, breaking free with the strength gained from all the wood needed to run an in, a shot to the head before he could grapple for her again. The others jumped after her, and with shaky adrenaline she knocked down two more, while her grandfather wielded her discarded pistol. The stench of the blood made her stomach churn but she forced herself to move. There were probably more, and Mercy was so slight.

Running outside barefoot though the odd silvery lighting she saw Mercy riding, and behind her more soldiers creeping through the woods. Even from where she was standing she could see her love’s face drawn and pale, white robes splattered with blood. She’d overextended herself to make it so far. 

 “ANGELA!” Fareeha screamed, at her voice Mercy pulled up, looking around wildly. She saw the men behind her, guns drawn and trying to get a decent shot. But she couldn’t do anything but try to urge her horse into a gallop.

 And Fareeha was running, running faster than she ever had run. It felt like flying, she gathered up the explosives for the seasonal festivals from behind the the shed and with a match in her hand she ran. Igniting the cotton string she threw them into the middle of what she knew was dead trees and brush the soldiers trod through. 

 Everything went up in a blaze of light and sound, Mercy’s horse rearing and managing to throw her. Luckily she rolled, and didn’t break her neck.    
 “Liebling. Oh Liebling. Fareeha.” She murmured, turning her lovers face back and forth- eyes tracing the bruises that were already forming.    
“Angela, they’re still alive.” Fareeha murmured, shuddering slightly at the inhuman screeching coming from the burning pile a way away. 

“It is because they aren’t quite men anymore.” Mercy replied, head against Fareeha’s chest. 

That is how Ana found them, hours and hours later sitting there twined together. The fire had burned down, through what mercy no one could say. 

“Fareeha. Angela. It is done.” She says, pulling up, eyes alight with a fierce joy. Jesse was seated on his own mount behind her, as were quite a few others. Mercy could pick out Reinhardt, the man who rarely left Ana’s side. All tired and all having at least some blood in their clothing.

 “Mom?” Fareeha pauses, and Mercy lets her go. Shaky limbs bring her to her feet, and she stumbles toward her supposedly dead mother. 

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t let them know about you.” Ana catches her daughter as she steps on the ground, the horse obviously none too pleased about all the commotion. 

 “They found me anyway.” Fareeha whispers. 

“I’m sorry for it.” Ana replies. 

Jesse helps Mercy to her feet, ever the gentleman. “See you’ve managed to catch a good one.” He says almost fondly, gesturing towards Fareeha. 

“Yes. I suppose I have.” 

 

_ The priest married us the next spring. I don’t think he was supposed to, he did it as a favor for healing his sister’s son. In the meadow where I first saw her, surrounded by my former comrades and her family. _

_  We snuck out later, when everyone was too deep in their cups to really notice. Snuck out to that meadow, the moon high in the sky.  _

_  The woman who ran barefoot through the snow and her healer of a wife. _

_ “Fareeha, are you happy?” I whisper, like my voice will cause the world to stop. _

_ “Yes.” She sighs, her breath hot on my cheek. _

_ We leave in the morning, Fareeha wants to travel and I’ve people to heal. But really, for now. For a moment- the world is quiet.  _

**Author's Note:**

> just a thing I came up with when listening to the highwayman sung by Loreena McKinnitt.  
> This takes place over the course of eh, maybe like three years? At the beginning Angela is in her mid 20's.


End file.
